Lost on the Border at Twilight
by Eslyssa
Summary: On hold due to RL commitments until January 2006. We know that Severus Snape graduated from Slytherin, Hogwarts. We know that he knew much of the Dark Arts even then. And we know that he joined the Dark Lord. We know that he finally turned to Dumbledore.


**Lost On the Border at Twilight - Part One - Ave Atque Vale - Chapter One**

The war is finally over, and the Light has won. Barely. Many have died. So many are hurt. All are scarred. The darkness has receded for now. But all know that there can never be an end to conflict. Two of those who came through the war gradually come to a greater understanding of each other. Stories are told, remembered. That which might have been forgotten is shared.

',',',',

I took one last look around the dimly lit room where I had spent so many long hours, so many years. So much time uselessly spent, so much time uselessly wasted. You might ask me, was I sad at leaving? No. And yes, in ways - it had become my home. Not in the mawkish, mocking, "home is filled with contentment and love" ideal, for there was no love for me then. But it was what I knew, what I understood. What I both hated and respected, all in one. I was inwardly scared. I can admit this to myself now, but I know that I did not, could not, then. I was leaving behind my childhood, all which had been my morbid existence.

Another question that I considered then, and countless times since: Did I succeed to my full potential while I was at Hogwarts? I would hope that I had. Was there more that I could have done? The answer to that one was an unpleasing one. Of course there was more I could have done.

Had I invented a potion to ease the after-effects of Crucio? No, I had not. It had been an interest then, a rather distant, hypothetical concept to consider. At that time, I dispelled my humiliation at failing by claiming impossibility. If I could not do it, then it must have been impossible. Lucius accepted that, but when I said as much to Bellatrix? She told me she had thought better than that of me.

',',',',

_"If you are no longer interested in pursuing it, then that I can accept," she said. "But if you do not pursue the idea because it is too hard, then by the Serpent, Sev, I don't even want to know you."_

',',',',

I know now that it was not impossible. When Bellatrix was sentenced to Azkaban, I worked harder than ever on it. And I was undefeated. I dedicated the potion to her. It would not cure the madness that Crucio's overuse had brought in the Longbottoms, the reason for the Lestranges' imprisonment, but if the effects had not progressed that far, it brought relief. It was a potion that both my then masters rewarded me for. Little did they know I had gifted them both with it.

But the castle. It would be long, I knew, until I had a place that like this, truly felt like home, like I belonged there. For the most part, the other students were returning home. They were returning to a place that was theirs. I had no such dwelling to return to and no family to greet me, to welcome my homecoming—only a sister who would speak no words to me.

Of course, I hoped that my future would be more… pleasurable… and more satisfying than my past. For my past could by no means be described as enjoyable. I was the one that all the other students despised—the one that the other students made sure was utterly miserable. It worked, too. It was such a time since I had truly been happy.

Some would say I deserved it. Beyond doubt, I was the scholar with the most thorough knowledge of curses, of hexes, of evil truths. But that was truth when I entered the school as a first-year.

And what students can truly begrudge an eleven-year-old a chance to make good? Undoubtedly these students. I was the student most likely to become a servant of darkness. My peer group had decided that before my twelfth birthday. I was only a child then, a child of darkness by circumstance. I was given no chance to be alive, to be myself.

And of course, in response to loathing, can anyone verily blame me for reciprocating? In reality, people do. For in Hogwarts, no one holds the Gryffindors culpable. Why would they when they have the perfect scapegoats to be had in my house, Slytherin.

Having retrieved the serpentine charm that had hung for seven years over my bed, I was satisfied that there was no item of mine left. I closed the trunk and locked it with a simple charm. It would give little resistance, should any wizard of even the most dismal abilities attempt to release it. I knew many much more powerful. I don't know why I even bothered. It was a habit, I suppose. It was expected.

I pushed my trunk out before me, from the bare dormitory and through the deserted common room. All the other students would be out saying goodbye to their so-called-friends, many of whom would be instantly forgotten, I thought to myself then.

Was I being bitter? Perhaps. I had little to say goodbye to. Well, not as in a "Goodbye, I'll miss you!" goodbye. In the last few days, many had said farewell to me. On the other hand, their goodbyes had almost all been followed by a nasty comment, so I knew better than to think they gave their best wishes. What I would miss was the relative security—though I did not know it then. Then, I was all too glad to be leaving, to be able to make something of myself. The few who had meant anything to me I would be in close contact with. Malfoy, Lestrange, Black—B.B., as we called her. They were the main three.

Lucius had arranged with his father an invite for me to one of his gatherings. Thoughts of the approaching evening scarcely left my mind those days. I had known better than to assume—to believe—that it would truly be only a social assembly. I had rarely attended such, but this, I knew, would be different. Lucius had hinted that _He_ would be there. This was certainly enough to tempt. It was ironic, I suppose. Here I was, aspiring to something that, not so long ago, I had thought of as simply repulsive. The rest of the students, I'm sure, had been certain of my path. They never doubted it. Did they drive me to it? I would like to think not. I would like to think that I never let myself follow the crowd's direction.

Anthony Lestrange and his fiancée, Bellatrix Black, were also invited to the gathering. Dear sweet Bellatrix, the wildcat of our small group—she would follow Anthony anywhere, though some would say that it was she that turned Anthony to who he was. Anthony was the simpler one of our knot—he held firm beliefs but could not reason to the extent that Lucius and I did. Lucius was a sly one, indeed. It was hard for outsiders to see where he really stood. It might seem to others that he was a turncoat, prepared to do whatever it took for remuneration. We knew better.

',',',',

As I had walked into the school's entrance hall on this, my last day, I was met by a nauseating sight. James "Perfect" Potter had a beautiful girl entwined in his arms. Long hair. Dark red, long hair.

Lily.

In that instant, all my respect and I hate to say it, enchantment, was no longer. She had always been kind to me, civil and courteous. I thought back to that fateful circumstance when she had come into my acquaintance.

_',',',',_

_I had seen her huddled by a drain. Such a young and beautiful child was obviously a target in such an alley as that—Knockturn—and she seemed oblivious to that. I must admit that it was her red mane that drew me to her first—a real red, even then, not the carroty red that is more common. Crimson._

_Like the proper gentlemanly pureblood that I was even at eleven, I held out my hand and helped the girl to her feet. She looked at me strangely as she pushed her locks from her face. Eyes reddened with tears, she sniffed._

_"M'lady," I said, courteously, "If you are not aware, let me tell you that you are not safe here. A girl as fair as you should stick to Diagon Alley. There are those here who would harm you."_

_She looked at me as if I had grown another head. Finally, she replied, her eyes narrowing. "Thank you for your concern, but I am fine without your help. Stick to Diagon, you say. A cluster of older boys were mocking me… Calling me names…"_

_"You must be a Muggleborn." It seemed likely, even just by the fact that she was letting herself look vulnerable here, of all places. "Look, let me help you."_

_You might laugh now, but then, at that time, I had nothing against Muggleborns. That came later._

_"Muggleborn," she repeated. "That means born of a non-magical family, doesn't it?" I was impressed—she learned fast. Perhaps she would be a Slytherin, even spite her parentage. "Look, who are you?" the girl added at last._

_"I," I said, bowing, "am Master Severus Snape. Son of Cassius Snape, brother to Ebony Snape. And you are?"_

_She giggled slightly at my manner, and I was glad of it. She curtsied as she spoke. "I am Miss Lily Evans. Daughter of Patrick and Rosemary Evans, and my sister is Petunia Evans."_

_I commented briefly that in the Wizarding world, one only ever really mentioned one's family if they were prominent or emerging figures in the community. For a moment, she looked hurt, but her face cleared quickly. _

_In a light-hearted voice, she had said, "Ah, but I am a future prominent figure. Thus, my family is important by association." I liked her then and there, and we spent most of the day together. _

_',',',',_

_The next time I saw her was on the train to Hogwarts. I had come across her as she was sitting with James Potter and his friend, Sirius Black. I had known them from various gatherings of Wizarding families. They hated me. I was the ultimate victim to them, and even then, they were proud, foolhardy, thoughtless, and uncaring. There was another boy there, too, who I later knew to be Remus Lupin. Lily and I greeted each other like old friends, but James Potter put a stop to that, even then. _

_"Lily, don't. You don't know him."_

_"Yeah, I do. I met him in Knockturn Alley—he was really nice to me after some horrible boys were teasing me." James glanced over to his friend, troubled._

_"I'm sorry, girl, but he's bad news. You can't be friends with him." Sirius that time. I was so flabbergasted, I couldn't say a word._

_"Well, I'm not asking you to be friends with Severus, now am I?"_

_James finally got his nerves together and with an okay from Sirius, stated his ultimatum and waited._

_"Lily Evans, it comes down to this. See, Sirius and I do know Snape here. And I tell you, from my own experience, he's bad news. And you can't be friends with both him and us. That's it. Your choice. Choose him and his malevolent habits—or stay friends with us. Come on, do you want to go bad, is that it?" _

_Sirius nodded his agreement. Remus looked terrified. Lily looked shocked. I—I was furious. But so be it, I thought to myself. I would have never made her choose, but if it had already come to this, then so be it. And so we waited._

_Lily glanced between the group of us, to James and Sirius, to Remus and his apoplectic look, and then to me._

_"I'm sorry," she said, her voice chilly. "Severus, I'm sorry. But if it comes down to it, to a choice… Well… I've been reading about Hogwarts houses, and I think I'm more likely to be in Gryffindor than Slytherin—and James' family are all Gryffindors, whereas yours… I'm sorry."_

_I wanted to yell, to scream. What about Black? His family weren't Gryffindors, oh no, certainly not. But I kept my face clear of emotions and my voice level. At that point, my view was changed forever, never completely repaired._

_"Very well," I snarled. "Mudblood." I turned and left._

',',',',

The last few years, I had thought that I loved her. In my mind, I laughed. What does a student know of love? What does anyone know of love? What is love?

I had said to myself then, as I saw her hair mingle with his as they embraced in the entrance hall, that there is no such thing as love.

In that strange eerie way, Potter and his… girl… became aware they were being watched. Disentangling themselves, they turned towards me. Evans flushed but at least spoke civilly to me.

"Severus." She paused, no doubt wondering what to say, given that I was Potter's most hated enemy. "I am glad to see you before I leave. I hope that the future is kind to you. I doubt I will see you again, so this must be a final farewell. You won't miss me, I am sure, but I must say it will take some getting used to after seven years for my part, at least."

Inside, I felt myself sicken. How could she say that here, of all places? Wrapped in the arms of the one who had caused so much of my misery? I found myself expecting a cynical comment from James and for a moment, I waited, but it did not come. I saw him stiffen, and his eyes glittered with abhorrence for me. I wanted to scream out to her that she could do so much better. But for her, I suppose it seemed not. Potter was rich, for sure—and with him, I supposed then that she would be protected, safe. If only I had known then.

I bit my tongue, and spoke instead to Potter. "Look after her, Potter, if you are capable of it." I turned to go, and as I went, I sensed as well as heard his voice flow through me.

"Yeah, go to hell, and say I sent you there."

I cannot describe how much I hated him at that moment. It was a dark hatred that burned deep inside my being, stirring what had been for so long as cold as ice. It was all I could do to keep striding away, away from my enemy, and the closest I'd had to a friend other than my close three. I heard her giggle softly, which only strengthened my resolve. I would join with Him—and James Potter, I knew, would be high on His list.

Pausing a bit for dramatic effect, I threw open Hogwarts' large doors for the last time in so long. I heard Evans' gasp at my audacity and at least in that I was contented. I strode down the steep sandstone steps, satisfied as my cloak billowed out behind me. Another student had once accused me of charming it to do so, but that was not true. I simply knew how to pace my gait. I smirked. My persona, my façade—my front and disguise—I had perfected, and I knew it. Not even Bellatrix could read my expression through my mask.

Only one other person stopped me as I headed through the grounds to the gate, my trunk dragging magically behind me. It was Albus Dumbledore, who had then only recently passed from Transfiguration professor to Headmaster. My opinion of him then was not the highest. He did not seem to see evil in any person. To him, everyone was good at heart. I knew from experience that this was not the case. Dumbledore held a view that seemed all honey and roses. He apparently did not, could not see where some of his students were going. Take me, for example.

That said, maybe he did have an idea of what my future held. Albus stopped me as I neared the gates and peered into my eyes.

"Not going by train?" he asked.

"My friends are picking me up in Hogsmeade. I saw no point in returning to London." I enjoyed the look of uncertainty on his face before adding, "I have no relatives to greet me there, and friends have courteously offered to let me stay at their manor until I get my own place."

Albus nodded at that. "It is agreeable to have friends in times like this. Times when it is hard to know who to trust."

I shrugged, indicating that while I acknowledged that the world indeed had many problems, this was not one that was at all related to me.

"Have you heard—I'm sure you have—but there's an apprenticeship offering with Potions Master Jean Borcileaux. You know he has never before taken on an apprentice, and you're the best potions student Hogwarts has had in quite a long time, certainly in my time—" He stopped in his digression, seeing my face.

"I have heard," I answered, rather curtly.

"And you will not consider it?"

How could I tell the old man the truth? I had ached internally when I had heard of it, for in my mind I saw no way to apply for the apprenticeship. I wished fervently that I could apply—but in truth I knew not what my future would hold, apart from and because of my plans to join with the Dark Lord. After a long pause, I answered shortly, "I have considered it—and I have declined it. I have no interest in furthering a study in potions."

Oh, how it had hurt to say those words. He looked taken aback, to say the least. In a tone that mirrored mine, he said simply that he would not keep me further from joining my friends. Then, "Goodbye, Severus."

',',',',

It was still dark in the morning when I rose from my pallet in the cellar. It had been late when I had finally been allowed to sleep—but I was growing used to it.

Despite feeling I shouldn't dare hope, the Dark Lord had turned out to be more perceptive than I had supposed. He had actually instructed me to apply. And my hopes soared.

_',',',',_

_I knelt low in front of His throne, feeling the eyes of the circle upon me—but most of all, His eyes. I was so afraid; I felt my heart in my throat._

_"What do you desire, Severus?" _

_His voice then was like honey—so different from what He became later. I had raised my eyes until they met His and found myself entranced by what I saw. I did not know how old He was, but He looked surely no more than twenty, though my maths told me it could not be so. But He seemed young, handsome, and very clever. Can I be blamed for admiring Him?_

"_I desire only to serve you, my Lord."_

_He laughed, and nervously, the circle around me joined in. I did not. "Of course you do, Severus. But for yourself. What do you want?"_

_To that, I could not answer. I did not dare. I said only, "I want whatever you want of me. I want to serve you."_

"Have _you not heard of the apprenticeship with the Potions Master Jean Borcileaux?"_

_That took me by surprise, but I felt it a test, and I did not want to fail. "I am not interested in a career in potions."  
In a way I had been right; it was a test, but not what I expected. Once again He laughed, but it was a dangerous laugh, and none of the others joined Him. _

_"My, my. That is a pity. Nevertheless, you say you wish to serve me, and serve me you will. You will apply for the apprenticeship. And you will be accepted." _

_I did not know whether it was a threat or a promise—merely a fact, it seemed, but I nodded my head and bowed. "Yes, my Lord."_

_',',',',_

He was right, of course. I had been accepted. Was it much of a surprise? Well, no, not really, though at first, I wondered if Voldemort had interfered. But I soon convinced myself otherwise. Dumbledore had been right. I _was_ the best potions student of the time. And it merits to be trained more thoroughly in potions. People who make potions without knowing what they are doing often come to a sticky end. All over the entire room, sometimes.

Even so, I dreaded meeting Dumbledore again after I had so abruptly declined any interest. I would see the headmaster again, I was sure of it. The wizarding world was not so very big, and Albus is and was a prominent figure, and I was _studying_ with another prominent figure.

Dressing quickly, I changed my black nightrobe to a black workrobe. One might accuse me of a lack of imagination, but it is, in fact, pure and simple. Black is practical. Black goes with anything. It goes with everything, in the end. It does not show many stains. It does not show dirt. Or blood. And it suits me. As much as a vampire of a wizard can be suited to anything.

I scrubbed my face brutally with a wet cloth, cringing as greasy hair fell into my eyes. Despite what Potter and his friends believed, grease was not something I applied to my hair on a regular basis. My hair was greasy because of a combination of potion working, lifestyle, and candidly, no desire for it to be otherwise. Grease was not an option, it was a fact. Still, it didn't mean I had to like it.

I heard a house-elf move about in the room above me and winced. It must have been later than I thought. Hurrying up the stairs to the entrance room, I tied my hair into a quick but neat knot on the back of my head. I was less than a step into the room when a detached, rather singsong voice stopped me.

"Running late, are we, Severus?" Despite his name, Jean was not, in fact, French—at least he hadn't grown up there. He had a very strong Irish accent, and I could only assume that any French ancestry was a generation or two in the past. As calmly as I could, considering my haste, I answered softly.

"I am sorry, master, that my arrival is belated. I hope I have not kept you waiting." I held my breath and hoped. Jean's tolerance was low and his punishments creative.

"Ah, but you _have,_ my apprentice." Borcileaux ran his household tightly and mostly on the back of formalities and traditions. Punctuality was one of such traditions.

Dutifully, but uneasily, I fulfilled my part. "I apologise, then, for your inconvenience. I will make it up to you." I had long learnt it better not to make excuses. I had been here for just on six months now and only once had I tried to explain myself. I learned quickly, very quickly, just to take punishment as it came, when it came. And come it did. Despite my efforts, I had not escaped retribution completely.

"Yes. Yes, you will. You will sit with a difficult old man at dinner tonight—don't give me that look. I told you to expect guests tonight. There will be a banquet. And you will sit next to a difficult old man."

The advantageous feature of Borcileaux was that once the sentence was set, the matter was forgotten. I could see the wizard quite ready to start on a new potion or whatever. He told me matter-of-factly that I would not have time for breakfast and that we would start work immediately. I kept my face bland, though I was resentful inside. I hadn't had time for dinner last night, either, and he knew it. We had not been able to leave one particular potion to brew by itself.

At least it meant we would be starting a _new_ potion. The previous had failed terribly, not to mention that it had reeked of rotten flesh. The idea had been to stem a vampire's fierce thirst for human blood. I frankly thought it was a worthless pursuit. There were many worthier causes. And even if vampires were not a threat, there would always be a vicious streak in the human race as a whole.

Who would know better than myself? I had not been summoned to the Dark Lord since my first gathering, but I was not unacquainted with His doings. The potions master did not venture out much, but a young man, Argus Filch, kept him aware of current affairs. He was a regular visitor—so regular, in fact, one could rely on him. Every Wednesday morning, Filch would arrive as the clock struck seven.

The potions master and I would be sitting at the breakfast table, and before we would eat, Filch would stand and recite the goings-on in the world outside the manor. I was always interested to occasionally hear the names of my former classmates and what they were getting up to and then thinking what fools they all were. Not that I missed them, but it was nice to know how much more I was making of my life than the trash that had made such misery of my schooldays.

My stomach growled, and I cursed myself for choosing that of all mornings to sleep late. Not only had I missed my morning meal, I had missed my weekly commentary of reports. I hated to be uninformed. I tried to console myself that I would probably pick up most of what I missed at this dinner Borcileaux had just mentioned. I didn't care what he said, he had _not_ informed me of the event previously.

I found myself wondering who this so-called difficult old man was. Difficult in what way? Patience was not a virtue I had in great abundance at any time, and on an empty stomach, I was less patient than usual. Nevertheless, there was little I could do but wait, unsavoury an option as it may have seemed.

Feeling absurdly cantankerous as I went, I followed the potions master up the many, many staircases to the potions labs. As I had numerous times, I brooded over why potions labs were always so inaccessible. In all my experience in copious amounts of labs, I was yet to find a single one on the ground floor. Dungeons, yes—Hogwarts a prime but in no way unique example. More commonly, they were in separate buildings. And in the lofts—Beauxbatons just one example of many. Borcileaux's manor had another such set-up. Whatever the reason, I grumbled about the eighteen staircases necessary to traverse from the entrance level to the labs. Surely for a potions master, this was an unnecessary inconvenience? I said as much and for the first time that morning, Borcileaux laughed.

"Ah, Severus. Youth is not all seeing, disconcerting as you may find that fact. If you were an esteemed potions master yourself, you would find that you liked your privacy. More than any other line of work, this is a thinking profession. Trust me on this."

I gave a forced smile at that, turning it into a grimace as soon as the master had turned back ahead. I made up my mind then that when—not if, as Borcileaux had said—I had my own potions labs, I would have them somewhat _closer_ and more convenient. Ha. Little did I know then.

Anyway, we eventually reached the labs, and I waited as Borcileaux performed the combination to open the magical version of a Muggle combination lock. I had laughed at his little invention the first time I had seen it, but I soon grew to respect it. It was so much more secure than a simple password.

First he drew the shape of an omega sign in red, glowing sparks. Following this was a force of energy—the Patronus charm, not that the wall showed any reaction. At last, he finished off with a mellow trumpet sound and then a last spell, the only one I had not identified in the six months I had watched him perform the ritual. That fourth spell I could not reconstruct, and so, even to me, his apprentice, the labs were securely protected.

I told myself that he was only paranoid, but in my heart –of hearts, I was not convinced. What was there hidden in this chain of chambers that needed such protection? And yet, I had been in every room within its depths. Surely I had not missed seeing whatever was hidden? Did Borcileaux not trust me? I was younger by far than the elderly master, but still, in me he would confide. He was an odd one, certainly, but he entrusted to me so much and divulged matters so very close to his heart that he spoke of to no one else. What was there concealed so precious that he could not trust it to his own apprentice?

As we entered, I watched him sheath his wand. It was the only magic I saw him perform with its aid, the password. Jean and I were both alike in that we preferred and had an affinity for a subtler branch of magic. Not that I was not extremely proficient at the other branches, particularly defence, hexes, and curses, and that which is called the Dark Arts. Shadow Magic, I called it then.

"Well, Severus. I have new inspiration for an experiment. I want to build a potion that can aid the drinker to resist the influence of Imperius. I am relying on your knowledge of the finer workings of the aforesaid curse." He didn't mention it, but I knew; any such research into an unforgivable—even for a preventative, was illegal without Ministry approval. I doubted somehow that he had it.

While he didn't know of my involvement with the Dark Lord, he knew well of my shadowy aptitude. He gave me a grim look that once again reminded me that though he had been a Slytherin, though he was a mysterious and twisted soul, that despite all that, it was I who had turned to the Dark Lord. No one gets pardoned for living.


End file.
